


my pain (fits in the palm of your freezing hand)

by sirenofodysseus



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Episode: s04e24 The Crimson Hat, F/M, Gangbang, M/M, Multi, Rape/Non-con - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:55:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28040499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirenofodysseus/pseuds/sirenofodysseus
Summary: Red John chuckles. “Lorelei said you were good. Better than me, in fact. I have to test this for myself.”Red John has Lorelei bring Patrick Jane to him.(heed the warnings, please. This fic is dark.)
Relationships: Patrick Jane/Lorelei Martins, Patrick Jane/Red John, Patrick Jane/Red John's Friends
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	my pain (fits in the palm of your freezing hand)

**Author's Note:**

> ....I'm a terrible person and I'm sorry. 
> 
> This fic was inspired by rewatching The Crimson Hat, so spoilers for S4. 
> 
> Also, Red John is not Thomas McAllister this time.

Patrick Jane’s blindfolded and gagged before he has a chance to react. Lorelei Martins’ soft hands bind his wrists together while he’s attempting to be calm. Sickness churns in his stomach as he hears her tell him to _be good_ , before her soft footsteps fade away. With only his breathing and heartbeat to keep him company, he thinks he might just go insane. After his time in the psychiatric hospital, he doesn’t care much for the silence as his mind becomes a fuddled mess.

Attempting to keep calm, he focuses on the little things. Like that the team can’t be too far behind. Or that he smells a faint trace of cinnamon, which makes him think of Lisbon and he smiles. He tries to listen for anything that tells him he has company, but nothing ever comes. He tries to mumble something. _Help!_ sits on the tip of his tongue, but nothing comes out. The gag tickles his throat, the blindfold scratches his eyes, and the rope around his wrists burn.

“Lorelei told you to be good, Mister Jane,” a high-pitched voice speaks eventually and Jane’s not sure how much time has passed. “Is attempting to escape the definition of good?”

He suspects Red John wants an answer, but the gag in his mouth makes answering questions quite difficult. It doesn’t occur to him, until after a rough hand is grabbing at his hair, that nodding is the second-best communication method.

“Good boy, Patrick,” Red John praise, dryly. “You might be useful yet.” Before Jane can ponder Red John’s words, he’s forced on his knees. The ground is rough and cool beneath his knees so he thinks they must be inside somewhere. Although he’s not religious, he thanks the powers that be that Red John hasn’t straight out slaughtered him yet for lying. There’s still time to be found. Still time to catch Red John in the act and Jane’s not about to squander his one and (maybe only) attempt to identify the mysterious man before him. Without his sight or touch or taste, he must reply on scent and sound. Red John squeaks when he walks and smells of aftershave and freshly spilt blood. Neither thing may seem big, but they’re tucked inside Jane’s memory palace for further exploration.

…if he makes it out alive.

He feels Red John’s finger press against his cheek. The killer has a callous on his finger. An artist, perhaps? “Such beauty. It’s a shame we’re going to mess that up.”

We?

Jane pauses to listen for another presence in the room, when he feels someone tearing away his outer layer of clothing. “Just don’t touch his face. He’s too pretty to mar.”

Lead settles in Jane’s stomach at Red John’s squeaky directive. He knows the serial killer is without mercy, thanks to the mangled bodies he leaves behind, but he’s never mistaken the killer for a _thug_. He prepares himself for the first kick or hit, but it never comes.

Instead, he’s shoved forward. Ass straight up in the air. Chin lulling against the coolness, he feels someone removing his pants until he’s only in his boxer briefs. Eyes wide behind the blindfold, Jane panics. Why does Red John want him nearly naked and down on his knees? His mind whirls with the implications.

He breathes through his nose, waiting. Anticipating. But nothing happens, and he blinks beneath the blindfold. If he’d been without a gag, he would have taunted the serial killer for being so weak. Jane thinks he might have said something along the lines of “performance anxiety?” or “cat got your tongue?” but before he can dwell too much more, he feels his boxers being removed and then, he hears footsteps. Quiet gentle footsteps. The hair on the back of his neck stands, as he feels a calloused hand skim his bare backside.

“So beautiful,” he thinks he hears, before he certainly hears, “have at him, boys. Just don’t rough his face up.” He doesn’t get the chance to consider Red John’s words as he feels another hand at his backside and then the sound of a zipper being undone.

He thinks he might be imagining it all, up until he’s in excruciating pain. He feels his inside burning, tearing, and stretching as whomever thrusts up inside him. Jane’s eyes are wide as he screams behind his gag for them to stop.

“Mister Jane, there’s no need to scream. You are amongst friends, after all.” Red John’s drawl comes after another upward thrust. Pain lances through him, making his toes curl and his stomach churn. “We are friends, aren’t we?”

There’s another series of thrusts and a guttural groan, which makes Jane feel disgusting. Come probably seeping from between his ass cheeks from the cock within him. He feels a set of hands in his hair, petting gently, before the gag vanishes.

“No,” he tries to tell Red John.

Red John chuckles. “Lorelei said you were good. Better than me, in fact. I have to test this for myself.” Mouth dry from the gag, Jane has no chance to argue before another cock is forced inside him. Red John’s still at his side, an unwavering presence, as he’s defiled time and time again. 

After what feels like the hundredth upward thrust, Jane cries out—tears escaping from the corner of his eyes and creeping down his cheeks—he feels a hand in his hair again.

“You’ve done so well, my little whore,” Red John praises him, ever so sweetly that he thinks it might have just broken something inside him. “Just one more and I’ll return you to your little woman.”

Red John’s footsteps squeak again as the hand disappears from his hair, and then suddenly, Red John is _inside_ him. Thrusting. Tainting. Destroying. Poisoning him from the inside out. He tries to scream out, but his voice fails him, and he begins to hyperventilate until the darkness swallows him whole.

The last thing he hears is laughter.


End file.
